


You Fucking Matter

by golden_gardenias



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective!Mickey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_gardenias/pseuds/golden_gardenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He'd never seen Ian cry before.  He’d seen him frantic and practically coming out of his skin the day he’d come his house a few years ago, needing to see him.  He'd seen the heartbreak on his face the last time they spoke before his second stint in juvie.</p><p>Never this.  Never these sobs that wracked his entire body, never these choked off whimpers, never this agony.</p><p>'Ian,' he called from his doorway, 'Ian, are you hurt?  Did someone hurt you?'”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about how indifferent the Gallaghers seem to be toward Ian and his problems prompted this.

Mickey had just started to doze off when he heard the floorboards in the living room creak.  His eyes shot open and he sat up ramrod straight in bed, listening.  He could make out the sound of shuffling footsteps, and rolled his eyes.  Who was stupid enough to break into their house?

He arbitrarily took a gun from the top drawer of his nightstand, taking his time loading it.  Anyone dumb enough to try to rob the Milkoviches was no threat to him.  He could hear whoever it was brace themselves against the wall and then slide down, groaning.  Then they knocked feebly, trying to get his attention.

_What the fuck?_

Gun at the ready, he took measured steps across the room, body tensed and ready to strike if need be.  He threw the door open and aimed, hoping to startle whomever he found.

He could make out the shape of Ian Gallagher, waving up at him from his place on the floor, grinning.  “Hey, Mick.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and tucked the gun into the waistband of his sweatpants.  “Fucking hell, Gallagher,” he grumbled.  “The fuck are you doing here?”

Ian giggled mindlessly.  “I needed to see you.  But I don’t have work today!  So no--” he burped --“meeting at the store in twenty minutes this time!”

“Jesus, are you drunk?”

“I--” belch --“may have had a few.”

Mickey snorted.  “Yeah, alright Elton John.  Can you stand?”

“I tried that one earlier.  Wasn’t workin’ out too good.”

Svetlana appeared out of the darkness with guarded eyes, wielding a hammer.  “What’s going on?” she asked.

Mickey hoisted Ian up.  “It’s nothing, I got it.”

Ian started laughing.  “It’s--it’s nothing, right?  Ha!  Nothing!  I’m nothing, right Mick?” his laughter turned hysterical, and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.  “I’m nothing.”

Mickey and Svetlana eyed each other as Ian began to cry in earnest, repeating “I’m nothing” under his breath.

She turned the light on in Mickey’s room and helped him guide Ian to his bed.  Once they’d laid him down, they noticed the bruises and blood on his face.  “Christ, Ian, what the fuck happened to you?”

Ian didn’t answer, curling in on himself and still whispering “I’m nothing.”

Svetlana opened her mouth to say something, but a wail from Yevgeny interrupted her.  She looked conflicted for a moment, turning to Mickey.

“You can go, I got him,” he assured her.

She nodded.  “I come back later.  Take care of boyfriend.”

Mickey closed the door behind her and turned back to Ian.  He was still crying steadily, shoulders shaking and occasionally whimpering.

Mickey didn’t know what to do.

He’d never had to take care of a shitfaced Ian before; the night he’d found him at the club and taken him home, it had only been a matter of making sure no one took advantage of him when he was high out of his mind on god-knows-what.

This was completely different.

He’d never seen Ian cry before.  He’d seen him frantic and practically coming out of his skin the day he’d come his house a few years ago, needing to see him.  He’d seen the heartbreak on his face the last time they spoke before his second stint in juvie.

Never this.  Never these sobs that wracked his entire body, never these choked off whimpers, never this agony.

“Ian,” he called from his doorway.  “Ian, are you hurt?  Did someone hurt you?”

He could handle hurt.  Pain was always something he was able to dish out.  Ian had a black eye and a cut on his cheek and a busted lip; he could return the favor to whomever had given him the injuries tenfold.

“Ian, I need you to tell me who hurt you, alright?” he said, voice hard.  It occurred to him that he’d never said Ian’s name so often in one sitting before.  “ _Gallagher_.”

The dangerous tone of his voice made Ian finally turn to face him.  He looked horrible--eyes bloodshot, nose red, tears staining his cheeks.  Mickey’s heart broke for him.

He sat on the bed with him, unsure how to proceed now that he had his attention.  The devastated look in Ian’s eyes told Mickey to be gentle; he’d had enough rough for the night.

“Ian,” he said softly, wiping the tears off his cheeks with his thumbs, “I need you to tell me what happened.  Can you do that for me?”

His bottom lip quivered.  “Hey, come on, don’t cry.  Please don’t cry anymore.  Just talk to me, okay?”

They stared at each other for a bit longer before Ian finally spoke.  “Can I have a tissue?”

Mickey stopped for a second before getting up to go to the bathroom for the roll of toilet paper.  He handed it to Ian wordlessly, watching him ball some up and blow his nose into it.

Ian sat at the edge of the bed, staring at a crack in the wall.  “They don’t care,” he said quietly.

“Who doesn’t care?” he asked.

Ian snorted.  “My so-called family.”

Mickey furrowed his brows.  “The fuck are you talking about?  Isn’t giving a shit the whole Gallagher thing?”

He shook his head miserably.  “Only if you’re _Fiona_ and everyone needs you.  Only if you’re _Lip_ and you’re smart.  Only if you’re Debbie and they want to keep you innocent and sweet.  Only if you’re Carl and they don’t want you to end up in prison.  Only if you’re Liam and you’re just a baby.  Not me.  I’m just their bastard brother-cousin, right?” he laughed with derision.  “I’m the drunken mistake.”

“I thought all the Gallagher kids were drunken mistakes.”

Ian glared at him.  “Ha fucking ha.  The rest of those drunken mistakes are the products of a loving, destructive relationship; _I’m_ the drunken mistake that should’ve been aborted, according to Frank.”

Mickey’s jaw clenched.

Ian continued to babble, and Mickey assumed he was rattling off things Frank had said to him.  “Ginger bastard--” hiccup “--should’ve known as soon as you popped out--” hiccup “--waste of money and a waste of space--” burp “--should’ve kicked you out as soon as I found out--” deep breath “--should’ve brought you right to _Clayton’s_ house--” choked breathing “--you two good-for-nothings deserve each other--”

“Stop,” Mickey commanded.

Ian bit his lip and closed his eyes.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, you don’t have to be sorry, alright?” he put a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder.  “Why do you let him get to you?”

Ian snorted.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Mickey’s eyes narrowed.  “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Our entire relationship is defined by you letting your dad get to you, so don’t try to lecture me about Frank.”

“Frank is _nothing_ like my dad.  Frank’s a fucking weasel, and you’re better than him.  You’re better than all of them.”

Ian sniffed.  “Even Lip and Fiona?” he asked hesitantly.

Mickey hated the vulnerability in his voice.  “ _Especially_ that fuckwad Lip and high-and-mighty Fiona.  And they can both go fuck themselves for making you think otherwise.”

He gave him a small smile in gratitude.  “Thanks,” he said softly.

“Don’t mention it.  You ready for bed?” he asked, standing.

Ian shrugged noncommittally.  “I didn’t bring anything to sleep in.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mickey deadpanned.  “Take your clothes off, man.”

He smirked and gave a mock salute.  “Yes sir.”

Mickey settled himself in bed while he waited for Ian to finish stripping himself, but once he got down to his boxers, he stopped him.  “The fuck is that?” he asked, pointing at a large bruise on his ribcage.

Ian looked down at it as if he’d forgotten it was there.  “Oh,” he said quietly.

“‘Oh?’” Mickey echoed.  “Who fucking hit you, Gallagher?  The hell happened to you?”

He was silent for a moment, settling under the covers.  “He hit Debbie.”

“What?  Who?”

Ian continued as if he hadn’t heard him.  “He grabbed her by her hair and smacked her across the face.  He thought she was me.  He only ever hits me.”

Mickey kept quiet, letting Ian finish in his own time.

“Everyone got in his face, and he lashed out again.  Wait no, that’s not right,” he laughed derisively to himself.  “Everyone ran to help Debbie.   _I_ got in Frank’s face.  We were fighting while they _comforted_ her, and got her _ice_.  It was like I wasn’t even there.  And then when we were done, and I had him on the floor, they all gathered their pitchforks and kicked him out.  And--and get this, Mick, this is the best part!”

Ian’s hysterical laughter and stray tears twisted his insides.  “What happened next, Gallagher?” he asked softly, running his fingers through Ian’s hair.

“Fiona--Fiona told him that if he ever showed his face again, she would kill him with the bat.  Ha!  Isn’t that just fucking fantastic?  He’s been hitting me since I was _four_ , and I’m the one with the broken nose and black eyes and bruised ribs, but he hits precious _Debbie_ one time, suddenly he’s no longer welcome!  It was a free-for-all on Ian, but Debbie must be protected at all costs!”

He broke into another mixture of uncontrollable laughter and broken sobs that tore Mickey’s heart out, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around him.

“I don’t--I don’t even think they noticed when I left,” he murmured into Mickey’s chest.  “They never notice me.  They didn't even notice when I got sick, they just passed me off to you, like Lip's hand-me-downs.”  He paused before adding tearfully, "Why didn't they notice, Mick?"

Mickey tried to contain the anger swirling inside him and clutched Ian closer to his body.  “I don't know, but don’t worry about it, Mumbles,” he whispered into Ian’s hair.  “I’ll take care of it.  You just go to sleep, alright?”

Ian’s breath hitched and his fingers spasmed, twisting in Mickey’s T-shirt.  “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded.  “Please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, who said anything about me leaving you, huh?  ‘Cause I sure as shit didn’t.  You and me, we’re like that fuckin’ gay cowboy movie you made me watch.  What was it?”

“Brokeback Mountain,” he sniffed.

“Yeah, that’s it.  I can’t quit you, Gallagher.  And if you don’t know that by now, you’re a lot fuckin’ dumber than I gave you credit for.”

Ian snorted.

“Just go to sleep, alright?” he urged, wiping his cheeks again.  “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.  And I’ll have Aleve for your hangover.”

He blinked up at him tiredly.  “You’re amazing, Mick.”

Mickey rolled his eyes.  “Yeah yeah yeah.  Get a move on there, sleepy face.  I know you’re tired.”

Ian mumbled something incoherent before finally drifting off.

Mickey didn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been drunk, nor have I spent much time around drunk people, so I don't know if they act like this haha. I was just thinking about seasons three and four and getting mad at Fiona and Lip because seriously, how could they not realize something was wrong? and why was Mickey the only one asking questions in season 4?? like in 4x12 Fiona actually asked what he was like "before," and i'm just dumbfounded, because HE WAS IN THE HOUSE WITH HER. HE WAS LIVING IN THE GALLAGHER HOUSE AND SHE WASN'T ALLOWED TO LEAVE IT, SO SHE SHOULD KNOW FULL DAMN WELL WHAT HE WAS ACTING LIKE AND THAT IT WAS MORE THAN BEING "A LITTLE CAFFEINATED." UGH.
> 
> okay sorry, rant over. second chapter should be up later today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to change something in the last chapter to make this conclusion better, but it was only a couple sentences. the updated part is the latter half of this: 
> 
> "I don’t--I don’t even think they noticed when I left,” he murmured into Mickey’s chest. “They never notice me. They didn’t even notice when I got sick, they just passed me off to you, like Lip’s hand-me-downs." He paused before adding tearfully, "Why didn't they notice, Mick?”
> 
> and sorry for taking longer than i said i would, i was having too much fun with "Ginger Snap."

Sunlight streamed through the open window in Mickey’s bedroom.  He idly ran his fingers through Ian’s hair, watching the skin around his eye twitch each time his thumb brushed against it.  When Ian began to stir, he slowly disentangled himself and got a glass of water and the promised painkillers.

Ian was awake when he returned, groaning and pressing his hands against his eyes.

“Morning!” Mickey said cheerfully.

“Fuck off,” Ian moaned.  “Stop being chipper.”

“Aw come on, don’t be like that, mumbles.  Got you a present.”  He took one of the blue pills between his thumb and index finger, dragging it enticingly through the air above Ian’s face.

“Stop being a dick.  Give it to me,” he grumbled, snatching at it.

“No need to be hostile.  Here,” he replied, handing the water and second pill to him.  “Want some toast?”

“Sure.  Thanks.”

Mickey returned with a plate of four pieces of dry toast and a glass of orange juice for himself.  They ate in companionable silence before he started getting dressed.  “Where you goin?” Ian asked, mouth full.

“Got shit to do.”

“What kind of shit?” he asked suspiciously.

Mickey rolled his eyes.  “Important shit I gotta take care of, alright?  Take a fucking shower, you stink.”

Svetlana was in the living room with Yevgeny, rocking him in his bassinet.  “You need this?” she asked, holding out the hammer from last night.

He shook his head.  “Nah, I got it.”

She watched him leave and then went back to entertaining her son.

 

* * *

 

When Mickey arrived at the Gallagher house, they were subdued, picking at their breakfast rather than eating it.

Their forks clattered to their plates when Mickey burst through the kitchen door.

“Jesus, what the hell are you doing here?” Lip asked.

“Explain something to me,” he said gripping the back of an unoccupied chair.  “Why did Ian turn up at my place in the middle of the night, drunk off his ass and covered in bruises?”

“He’s with you?” Fiona asked hopefully.  “Is he okay?”

“Aside from the hangover yeah, he’s fucking peachy,” he snapped.

“He went out and got shitfaced?” Lip asked.  “We were calling him all night.”

“Why didn’t he call us back?  We left him a ton of messages,” Fiona put in.

Mickey walked across the kitchen and bent to pick something up.  “Because this,” he tossed it on the table, “is his phone.  And it’s dead.”

They blanched, staring at it.

“I’ve been here for all of two minutes and I saw it.  The fuck’s your excuse?”

Fiona ran her fingers through her hair.  “We had a lot going on last night, okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed, “I heard.”  He turned to face Debbie, assessing the damage Frank had done.  “A split lip?  Really?  That’s what you drove Frank away for, a fucking split lip?”

Debbie’s eyes shone with tears.

Mickey sighed.  “Look, I know I’m probably being an asshole right now, but I don’t really give a fuck.  Kid, living here, that’s not the last time you’re gonna get hit, so you should get used to it.  Learn how to fight, for fuck’s sake.

“And you,” he said, turning to Fiona, “Why is it okay for Frank to beat on Ian but not okay for him to slap Little Red?”

“It’s not okay,” she replied hotly.  “We’ve never condoned that, we always defended him!”

“Yeah, that’s why Frank was allowed back here for fourteen years, right?  That’s why a split lip will get him beat to death if he ever shows his face, but broken noses and bruised ribs are fucking dandy?”

“No, that’s not what I said!”

“I don’t give a shit what you said!” he roared.  “Ian fucking cried himself to sleep last night, you know that?  He came to me, drunk off his ass, talking about how he’s nothing and he doesn’t matter to you!”

“That’s not true!  We love him, we have _always_ loved him!”

“Not enough,” he spat.  “If you did, you would’ve gone looking for him when he ran away.  You would’ve brought him home yourselves, not pawned him off on me.  You would’ve known something was wrong as soon as you saw him.”

Fiona was quiet.  “We had other things to deal with, Mickey.”

He snorted.  “Oh yeah, your little breakdown or whatever the fuck that was.  Driving two-and-a-half hours to Wisconsin to come get you when they couldn’t be bothered to go to fucking _Boystown_ for him.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door opening.

Ian stepped through, wearing yesterday’s clothes, his black eye prominent on his face.  “Mick?” he asked, surprised.  “What are you doing here?  Thought you had collections to do.”

Mickey rolled his eyes.  “I said I had important shit to take care of, didn’t I?”

Ian smiled.  “Yeah, you did.”

Debbie interrupted their moment by running to Ian and embracing him.  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings before.”

He pulled back to look at her.  “What are you talking about?  You never hurt my feelings.”

Mickey scoffed.

Ian glared at him.  “What did you do?”

“What needed to be done,” he answered shortly.  “Where the fuck’s Frank?” he asked the room at large.  “We got a score to settle.”

“In the backyard.  Told me to tell Debs he’s sorry, and it’ll never happen again.  Swore on Grammy’s grave and everything.”

“Oh trust me, he’s not sorry yet,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

Ian rolled his eyes.  “Come on, Mickey, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t have to do.  Now get the fuck outta my way.”

“At least give him head start.  Pretty sure I messed up his knee last night.”

“Good.  Which one?”

Ian sighed.  “Tell you what--” he opened the door.  “You get three minutes, then I’m pulling you off him.”

“Five,” Mickey demanded.

“I want you to maybe render him unconscious, not commit murder.”

“Fine.  Three.”

And with that, he pulled off his jacket and marched outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be a third chapter at wordsmakeme's request :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, here it is! the third chapter, as requested by wordsmakeme :)
> 
> i know it's kinda short, but i hope you like it!

Mickey’s words had been weighing heavily on Fiona’s mind all day; Ian couldn’t honestly think that they didn’t care about him, could he?

She found Ian in his room, sorting through clothes and putting them in a bag.  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

He stopped, turning to face her.  “I think I’m gonna stay with Mickey for a while, actually.”

She blanched.  “What?  No, if this is about what he said earlier--”

“So what if it is?” he challenged.

“You don’t--you don’t really think we don’t care about you, do you?”

“Well you haven’t really given me much reason to think otherwise, have you?”

She was silent.

“Look,” he sighed, running a hand over his face, “I know you’ve got a lot going on, so this’ll be better for everyone.  I don’t want to burden you guys.”

“‘Burden?’” she repeated.  “You have _never_ been a burden, Ian.  We need you, okay?  Please don’t go.”

He snorted.  “You sure as shit didn’t need me last year, when you let me leave.  You didn’t even come looking for me.”

The look on his face and the tone of his voice reminded her of the lost little boy he used to be, the one who held her hand whenever they left the house and curled up with her when he had nightmares.  “I...I thought that was what you needed,” she said quietly.

He shook his head.  “You were my guardian, Fiona.   _You’re_ supposed to know what I need.”

Her eyes welled with tears.  “Look, Ian, I know I messed up before, but I can do better, okay?  I _promise_ I’ll be better for you.”

“Better how?  Better as in you’ll pay more attention when I’m trying to tell you about some old guy who’s flirting with me?  Better as in you’ll ask _me_ why I’m drinking so much instead of Lip?  Better as in you’ll ask me where I work when Mickey casually mentions old guys slapping their sacs against my ass cheeks?”

She floundered, opening and closing her mouth.  “You never came to me with your problems anymore; I was waiting until you were ready to tell me.”

“I didn’t stop coming to you with my problems, you stopped noticing I had any!” he yelled.  “Everyone was focused on their own shit, or involving themselves in someone elses, and mine just kept getting flushed down the toilet!”

A few stray tears leaked down her cheeks.  “Ian, I...I don’t know what to say.”  She sat on his bed, head in her hands.  “I just...I thought you were handling everything on your own.  I thought that’s what you wanted,” she said softly.  “I’m sorry I let you down.”

He sighed, sitting next to her.  “It’s only for a week, okay?” he said, rubbing her back.  “Maybe a little more.  It’s not like I’m moving out.  I just...need to come first for once.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.  “If that’s what you need.”

He kissed the side of her head and went back to packing.

After he left, Fiona spent the night in his bed, staring at the ceiling and wallowing in regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **update** okay, since some of the comments have been asking for more, i think i can see myself doing two more chapters of this. i don't want to draw anything out, and there will be a definitive resolution, so i hope everyone's okay with that :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out from under blankets* um...hey?
> 
> big (enormous, humongous, gargantuan) apologies to everyone who bookmarked this and enjoyed it only for me to basically fall off the face of the earth ((please don't hate me)). i really dropped the ball and i will forever be sorry and ashamed of myself for not finishing this over the summer. i'm sure you aren't interested in excuses, but just know that i sincerely apologize and hope you enjoy this even though it's pathetically short and really should not have taken me so long to do :/

Things had been off at the Gallagher house since Ian’s abrupt departure.  Everyone walked around in a guilty stupor, shuffling their feet and staring forlornly into the distance at each lull in conversation.

Not that there was much talking going on.  Debbie had been too unsure of her thoughts to voice them initially, but now she kept quiet out of spite, and Carl followed her lead.  She alternated between being mopey and being angry, and she wasn’t sure which was worse: despondent helplessness or seething rage.

They needed to talk to Ian.  It was almost worse than the last time he’d left them, because despite knowing where he was and that he was safe, they had to live with the knowledge that they’d driven him away.  He was closer to home than before, yet even more unreachable.  There was so much that needed to be said, but neither of them knew how to start.

It took eight days for Debbie to reach her boiling point.

Lip had come home from school with stolen food for them, looking as frazzled and harried as Fiona in the early days, when she was still settling into her new role as primary caregiver.  He’d taken a cursory glance around the kitchen and a quick look into the living room before commenting.  “Still no Ian, huh?”

Fiona looked up from the pile of mail she’d been sorting through.  “No, not yet,” she said sadly.

Lip made a small noise, a little hum of disinterest, before nodding and setting the trays of food down.

Carl watched Debbie bristle and made his way to her end of the kitchen table, ready to back her up.

“That’s it?” she asked, incensed.  “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

Lip ran a hand through his hair.  “What do you want me to say, Debs?  He said it’d be a week, and it’s been a week.  He said he’d call when he wanted to talk, and he hasn’t.  For all we know he could’ve skipped town again.  Certainly packed enough for a road trip.  He made his choice, Debbie, and it wasn’t us.”

“It wasn’t a competition.  And he’s with Mickey, they wouldn’t skip town,” she said pointedly.

Lip rolled his eyes.  “Is that supposed to make this whole thing better or something?  Our bipolar brother is staying with the gun-toting, knife-wielding, drug-dealing Milkoviches?  That’s a real load off my mind, Debs, really.”

She shook her head slightly, unable to quite believe what she was hearing.  “You’re an asshole,” she breathed.  “You don’t know anything about them.”

He snorted.  “What, and you do?”

“More than you!”

“Mickey’s the reason he left in the first place!” he yelled.  “Mickey’s the one who drove him away last time, and now you’re on his side?”

“He brought him back, though,” Carl said quietly.  “He went and got him when we didn’t.”

“Yeah?  Well good for him, taking responsibility for once in his life.  Truly a commendable achievement.”

Debbie stood abruptly, almost knocking her chair over.  “If Mickey can take responsibility, then so can you!”

“Me?  The fuck did I do?” he asked, bewildered.

“You drove him away this time!  You and Fiona, this is _your_ fault!  He left because of you, and all your selfish bitching about college when he could’ve been dead in a ditch somewhere!  He was sick when he came home, and neither of you saw any of it!” she screamed.  “Stop blaming Mickey for everything, he’s the only one thinking about Ian.   _He’s_ the one who went back to that club and waited outside half the night for him to come out, and he would’ve carried him home, too!  Ian would’ve been laying in the snow for _hours_ if it weren’t for Mickey, he could’ve died! Or gotten kidnapped, or beat up, or anything!  And I bet you didn’t know _any_ of that, because _you_ never bothered to talk to him!”

Lip stood in stunned silence.  His lack of response was as good as a confirmation, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with contempt for him. She stalked to the living room and grabbed her jacket off the hook, Carl at her heels.  “Where are you going?” she heard Fiona ask from the kitchen.

“Away from here,” she snapped.

Carl picked Liam, who’d been watching them fight with polite interest on his face, up from the couch and put his jacket on, too.  “No, Liam stays here,” Lip said forcefully, making a grab for him.

Carl turned away and held his brother against his chest.  “Liam misses Ian too, don’t you buddy?”

Liam smiled and pressed his small hands against Carl’s cheeks.  “Ian!” he squealed excitedly.

“See?  He’s coming with us.  Come on, Carl.”

She could hear Lip’s enraged yelling and Fiona’s soft attempts at reassurance as they pounded the pavement, crunching through snow and ice.  She was running purely on her anger, not caring that she loped ahead of her younger brothers and not pausing to allow them to catch up.  Carl didn’t ask her to wait, either, which she appreciated.

She reached the Milkovich house well before Carl and Liam, stomping up the porch steps and barging in without bothering to knock.  She was unprepared for the darkness she was met with, and tripped over a pair of shoes.  “Arg!  Ian!” she shouted.  “Ian, are you here?”

He materialized at the end of the hall, wearing ratty sweats and a T-shirt.  “Debbie?” he asked, rushing to her.  “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

She threw her arms around him, almost knocking him off balance.  The light turned on, and she pulled away to see Mickey walking up to them, similarly dressed.  “The fuck’s going on?” he asked.  She could hear a layer of concern beneath his obvious irritation.

Carl and Liam arrived then, and Liam ran top speed to his older brother, hugging his legs.

“Hey, buddy!” Ian enthused, getting to his knees to address him properly.  “You doing okay?  Being a good boy?”  He brought a hand up to tickle under the boy’s chin, milking out a chorus of delighted giggles.  Liam started to climb him, wanting to be picked up.  “What are you guys doing here?” he asked, wrapping Liam in his arms and standing.

“Lip’s a tool,” Debbie huffed out angrily.

Mickey snorted.  “Really?  You’ve known him your whole life and you’re just now figuring that out?”

Ian shot him a look before turning back to Debbie.  “What happened?”

“He was acting like he didn’t care about you anymore.  And he kept blaming Mickey for stuff.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Mickey muttered.

“Would you let me handle this?  Go make pizza bagels or something.”

Mickey threw up his hands and went to the kitchen while Ian took off Liam's coat and led his siblings into the living room.  “I won’t apologize,” Debbie said fiercely.  “He was wrong, not me.”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you to apologize, Debs,” Ian said softly.  “Just...start from the beginning, I guess.”

“No, don’t tell him anything,” Mickey called from the kitchen.  “Supposed to avoid stress, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes.  “You don’t have to coddle me, Mick.  I can handle hearing about Lip.”

Mentioning Lip again made Debbie think of Mandy, and she wondered why the house seemed so empty for so early in the evening.  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Mandy and Svetlana are at work, and one of the girls is watching the baby,” he answered, blushing slightly pink.

She didn’t understand why, but Carl picked up on it immediately.  “You guys were having sex?  Cool.”

Something clattered in the kitchen.  "No, we were just...having a bit of a date night, that's all.  Relaxing together."

“You’re supposed to be talking about Lip, not us,” Mickey said indignantly.  "And don't sugarcoat shit, you know full damn well we were gonna fuck."

“Can you guys teach me about sex?" Carl asked.  "All they talk about in school is that you shouldn’t do it, and Vee says the stuff they do in porn isn’t real sex, whatever that means.”

Ian floundered.  “I don’t really know much about sex with girls, dude.  Mickey, would you be willing to impart wisdom?”

“Fuck off.”

“Can we stop talking about sex?” Debbie snapped.  “We’re supposed to be talking about Lip.”

“Right, sorry.”  Ian kissed Liam on the forehead and slid him off his lap, telling him to go to the kitchen with Mickey.  Mickey gave him a _don’t you send that fucking kid in here_ glare, but otherwise didn't object when the little boy hugged his legs and smiled up at him.

Debbie launched into the story while Carl sat back and watched Ian’s expressions, noticing that his face didn't stay on one for very long; he morphed from concern to anger to sadness to regret throughout the entire tale.  "Jeez, I'm sorry guys.  I meant to call, really--"

"It's fine," Debbie waved him off.  "I probably wouldn't have called either."

"I would've called just to tell Lip to suck it," Carl chimed in.

Ian gave Carl a stern look, but didn't disagree with him.  "I don't want you guys getting into fights about this, okay?  It's between me and Fiona. And Lip, I guess. I'm not mad--"

"Fuckin' should be," Mickey interrupted.

Ian turned to give the other boy a look before Mickey put his hands up in surrender and went back to the pizza bagels.  "I'm not mad, so you shouldn't be either, okay? Just let me handle it."

"Mickey's right, Ian," Debbie said urgently.  "You  _should_ be mad.  Remember when Lip dropped out of school and started living with Jimmy? Fiona was over there _all the time_ trying to get him back."

"And that one time Frank didn't show up for his check," Carl added. "She had us checking everywhere for him."

Ian was starting to look uncomfortable, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.  "Look, Fiona has a lot on her plate, okay? She always has, so don't pick fights and make things difficult for her.  We all wanted Lip back and we were all worried about Frank--"

"We were worried about you, too," Carl said quietly.

They lapse into silence after that, Ian's leg jittering with nerves.  Mickey comes out a few minutes later with a plate of pizza bagels for them to eat, but Liam is the only one who touches them.  "You guys should head home," Ian says softly.  "It's getting late."

Debbie and Carl exchanged looks before standing to gather their little brother.  Liam put up a bit of a fight, whining for Ian to come home with them, but all he did was kiss the boy's forehead with regret on his face.  "I'll be home soon, buddy," he whispered.

They were on the almost at the end of the street when Debbie turned back, waving Carl ahead of her even though she knew he would wait. Ian was sitting on the couch while Mickey stood behind it, rubbing his shoulders and whispering to him.  "Ian," she called.

He turned to face her in surprise.  "Yeah?"

She shuffled her feet, suddenly nervous.  "I, um...I did some reading, about mental illness and families and stuff, and...you're important, okay? You matter, and you don't have to come home if you don't want to."

"No, Debs--"

"Wait, just let me finish."  She took a deep breath before walking over to sit with him, grabbing his hand.  "If being here is better for you, then you should stay. Don't come home and be miserable."

He gulped, staring at her long enough to make the palm pressed against the back of his hand sweat before responding.  "You really mean that?"

She shrugged, trying to mask the anxiety churling in her gut.

"I...I'll think about it.  And this time I  _will_ call.  I promise."

She smiled and hugged him, trying to communicate the swirl of emotions in her chest to him and blushing when he kissed her cheek. "Do you want us to walk you home?" he offered when they pulled away.

"Carl's still out there, it's fine."

She slowed as she approached the doorway, turning around again when she reached the threshold.  "Hey, Mickey?"

He looked up, surprised at having been addressed.

"Thanks."

She didn't wait for a reaction before she walked out, joining her brothers on the sidewalk and feeling considerably lighter than she had when they'd made the journey earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...one chapter left! and i SWEAR that the conclusion will not take nearly as long to get to you as this did ((pray for me))


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